


out too deep

by riverbed



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Emotions, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Rape, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Water Sex, in spades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6636025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverbed/pseuds/riverbed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>relearning intimacy takes hard work, especially when neither john nor alexander are particularly patient people.</p><p>a sequel to gunstock, set a few months later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	out too deep

**Author's Note:**

> this is just sad but sweet porn. it follows [gunstock](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6068581/chapters/13910107), but you don't necessarily have to read that to understand this. but if you find strange catharsis in weirdly shaded, overwhelming emotions like i do, it's worth giving it a try imo.
> 
> warnings for a sort of dom drop/unsureness, talk of a past rape and weird feelings on the part of both partners that come with that, undernegotiation and an especially weird/dangerous kink being played with. don't try this at home, kids.

They haven’t been back here together since the night Alexander swam away from him.

The weather is a little more mild, the water slightly cooler. John shivers slightly, but Alexander, who runs hot, is totally in his element; his hair splays out around his shoulders as he floats, completely relaxed. John does a breaststroke to reach him, and Alexander lets the resulting wave wash him over and then back again, and he straightens up, treading water, giving John a scrutinizing once-over. “Why’re you still wearing that?” he asks. 

John looks down at the ends of his unbuttoned undershirt, floating up around him under his arms where he treads. “I… thought it was poetic?” He knows it’s a feeble response, but the real answer - _I couldn’t be apart from you another second_ \- seems too heavy for his voice to carry. Right now, John feels small, anxious. The past few months have been tests of faith and trust. He doesn’t want to let Alexander down.

But Hamilton laughs, the laugh John remembers, not the bitter, tired huff he’s grown accustomed to since Alexander had been hurt. He throws his head back and lets another small wave from out at sea wash him closer to John. Alexander is only tall enough to stand in this depth on his tiptoes, but John can plant his feet, so he does, digging his toes into the wet sand beneath them and hoists Alexander up into his lap. Hamilton gasps as their chests come into contact and wraps his arms around John’s shoulders, his large brown eyes meeting John’s. Laurens melts a little, overcome with affection, and leans in to kiss up Hamilton’s neck to the spot under his ear he knows he likes tickled, brushes his lips there as he listens to Alex’s heartbeat speed up.

Alexander wraps his wiry legs around John, holding him tightly. He feels like an island, a patch of land in a stormy sea that’s sturdy enough to cling to. As John pays perfect attention to the column of his neck and comes around his jaw to his lips, Alexander finds he never wants to let go.

John kisses him soundly, as sweetly as he ever has, and Alexander rolls his shoulders back, arches a bit so his hips, cradled over John’s, can press against John’s toned belly. He groans, the wet slide stirring interest in his soft cock. He can feel himself unwinding - and it’s been so long since he’s been able to be free like this that it feels entirely new. It’s been too long since he’s allowed himself to want John like this. More often than not, his mind shuts him down, racing away from him with panic, and he’s gotten good at pushing it down, at lying there numb while John takes his fill. He’s also learned how to hide it, how to pretend everything’s fine and keep busy, shutting John out while he retreats and lets his panic slow.

And then John had found him alone in his tent, the afternoon after the reunion with Ben and Caleb, and it had all spilled out of him, the guilt over every half-truth and omission driving him to tell. Before that, it had felt like he’d been mourning a loss, nursing this new inability to grasp how he’d once felt about John and hang onto it. It had felt like something floating away from him inch by inch, and his reflexes had been too slow to catch it. All at once something had happened that day, after everything had come out in a rush, when Alexander had been exhausted and his eyes tear-red but his mind had been gloriously clear. They had talked after, Alexander’s head on John’s chest, John’s arms around him tight, and they’d realized that was the trick - a clear head.

Alexander has been seeking it since.

Sometimes recklessly.

He sinks his face into John’s curls, soaked with seawater. He breathes in the salt of the ocean, feels it sting and clear his sinuses. John sighs deeply and shifts, bumping Alex up a little in the water. He kisses Alexander’s shoulders, holds him at the waist. Alex sinks into the feeling, relaxes into the gentling. John is so attentive, and he misses this. They haven’t been this close in months.

Alex tries not to think about anything other than this, and it’s easier here in the water, where he’s always safe. John’s fingers are slim and undemanding; he focuses on the differences, the contrast between the burnt colors of rotting autumn leaves on a forest floor and the vast nighttime ocean, between John’s familiar hands and the shoving insistence of the strangers’ rough, calloused ones.

John revels in the little sounds of contentment Alexander doesn’t realize he’s making - he can’t remember the last time he’d had Alexander like this, tensionless and pliant and _all his._ There’s been a rift, a gap between them no matter how close they’d pressed together in senseless, frenzied rutting. 

He’d been so guilty after the talk they’d had, had hated wondering how many times he’d violated Alexander. And underneath the guilt, a little undercurrent of rage, all this anger he doesn’t know how to focus. He feels good that those men are dead, validated, but unsatisfied. He knows his wish to have been there himself is misguided, knows it wouldn’t have helped, because as tempting as it is to him, violence never quells him. But he doesn’t know how to burn off this energy. He doesn’t know where to place his blame, because he puts it on himself though Alex insists he should not. He’s responsible, he knows. He couldn’t protect Alexander before. He has to apologize now.

“John,” Alexander says, sort of final. John studies his face again, his small, parted mouth, his prominent nose, his pupils, huge with dilation. His cheeks are flushed with growing arousal, and John wants him to talk to him, but he decides nothing he could say right now is as important as kissing Alex breathless, so he does, tilting his head to slot their lips together and moving one hand from Alexander’s back to his hair, gripping gingerly so as to not induce panic. He reassures by sliding his palm down his hot cheek. Alex makes no effort to break away, so John keeps him there, feeling his weight solid on him, supported by the high tide. Alexander starts to pant against him, so John is finally the one to pull back, and Alex makes a little whine of loss. He rests his forehead against John’s, pushing sideways into his hand where it’s in his hair. “Don’t stop,” he whispers, eyes shut. John can see the beginnings of tears at the corners, distinct from seawater. He swipes his thumb beneath each eye, and Alexander gasps in surprise, opens his eyes but can’t meet John’s. He looks past him, out to sea. John strokes his jaw.

“You’re breathless, baby,” John tells him, trying not to burn Alexander with his own gaze. His eyes focus on his collarbone, all the blank canvas he could decorate with his teeth and the suction of his lips. They have time.

“I…” Alexander rests against John again, this time with his face further back in his hair. A wave roars, and John can’t hear what Alex says next, so he asks him to repeat it, but Alex just buries his face in his shoulder.

John pulls back, gently pushes Alexander back until he can eye him quizzically. He resists the urge to prompt him further, just goes back to running a thumb along his jaw and up across his bottom lip.

Alex seems to sink a bit but he doesn’t swim away. He tries to hang his head, hide his face, but John’s hand stops him. “I liked it,” he tells John finally, and John tilts his head in confusion.

“Liked what, love?”

Alexander leans heavy now, and John lets him go, sad with the thought that he might be too overwhelmed but not wanting to stifle him. All he does, though, is dunk his head under the water, and John has to yank him back up by the hair to get him to surface again. Alex splutters at him, heaving ragged breaths. He stares at John, face wet, hair lank. John squints at him.

“Keep me under,” Alex says upon finally catching his breath. John’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head furiously, breaking their remaining contact to put some distance between himself and Alex. He’s freaked, he’ll admit it. He can’t even imagine.

There’s only a few feet between them, but Alexander follows, wrapping his arms around John’s chest from behind and hugging him to him. John doesn’t shake him off, but he knows Alex can feel his heart beating fast against his fists. “Please don’t leave me out here, John,” Alexander says, clinging tightly. He’ll take this basest of contact now, he’ll take anything. They’d made so much progress. He’d thought John was ready. He’s misread him before.

It’d never caused John to physically pull away.

John leans back, against Alex’s shoulder behind him to reassure him. “I don’t know -” he starts, then stops, unsure. “I don’t think I can,” he tells Alex finally, and Alex responds by dropping a few frantic kisses to the back of his head.

“Just don’t think about it,” he says, and it sounds like he’s begging. He swims around to John’s front so gracefully that the water barely moves, and wraps himself around him again, this time more tentatively. He rubs against him slowly, feeling John perk up. “You feel how hard I am for you, Laurens?” he says softly. “Let me have you, come on. Let me have you like you want me to have you.” His words send a little thrill through John, and he shoves down the terror of the suggestion that he wants Alexander in any way other than he’s had him. He likes Alex as he is, with his plain smile and bright eyes, and he’s never felt as if he’s not enough. But if this is what Alex needs, then he’ll do what he can.

It’s surreal, the way Alexander goes to his knees, because the water doesn’t seem a hindrance. For a moment John forgets they’re in the bay, but Alexander’s hair floats up around him and the contrast between the cool of the water and the heat of Alex’s mouth as he wraps his lips around him is good enough to make him forget all concept of location. He instinctively reaches for Alexander’s hair, holding him in place as he sinks down on him to the root. He gasps, digging his toes into the sand to stay anchored. Alexander’s tongue is flicking against his head, and he hasn’t done this for John in a while, actually, so John had forgotten how exquisite it feels. He relishes the old Alexander, his old eagerness to please.

He can feel Alex’s throat working around him and he suddenly comes back to Earth, kicking his legs and pulling his hair to get him up above the water. Alexander surfaces a little blue in the face but smiling wide, his eyes heavy-lidded. “Good?” he asks John, smugly, like he’s won. John considers it.

“You’re always good,” he tells Alexander, pressing close to him again. He grabs his thighs and pulls them around him once again, fitting them together. He holds to him as tightly as he can, digging his fingers into the tight muscle on the backs of his thighs, kneading his palms into his plump ass. Alexander moans as John ruts them together, tossing his head back and twitching reflexively, and John catches the small of his back, presses on it to accentuate the arch. John goes for Alex’s neckline, nips at the bone. Alexander begs him to let him go down again, but John holds him close, tells him over and over that it’s enough, that he’s always enough.

Alex sobs and shivers through a long-deserved orgasm, and John reaches his own peak as he gives a sated sigh and sucks a bruise into his shoulder. He scrapes his teeth against the hickey, and then runs his tongue there, and John shakes with aftershock, clutching desperately at softer parts of Alex’s flesh - his hips where they’re a bit fuller, spreading his palms around to his ass. Alexander slumps against him. They breathe.

The clear black water reflects the clear black sky, an endless peace. They share breath, a newly reformed treaty.


End file.
